


Shadow on the Run

by ScaryScarecrows



Series: Garage Tapes [5]
Category: Gotham City Garage (Comics)
Genre: Antoine does NOT like Dick, Dick regrets his life choices, First Meetings, Gen, Jason thinks this whole thing is hilarious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 12:58:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17960990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: He puts on his best grin, keeps his palms open, and says, “Dick Grayson.”Silence. Kid takes another drag. Finally, Rogers starts snickering. Gee. So mature. Kid snorts, smoke coming out of his nostrils like a dragon.“Wow. I don’t know whether to laugh or to feel bad.”





	Shadow on the Run

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club of the same name.

Dick eyes the loud, ramshackle building in front of him and mentally curses Natasha for being a badass who stopped just shy of breaking his arm. And, while he’s at it, himself, for thinking he could take her in arm wrestling.

The Red Hoods have a new leader. Supposedly, anyway. And in the interests of diplomacy, he’s here to…sort of…try to make nice. Mostly, to be honest, because he’s nosey and the Garage is nosey and also because he was tipsy last night and it **seemed** like a good idea.

It wasn’t.

Oh, well…

He could chicken out, he reasons. Get back on his bike and ride away and stay away long enough to hope she forgets about this whole thing. And it’s tempting. But…yeah. He’s curious, too. Maybe the new guy’ll be willing to, like, be friends. He doubts it, but you never know, right?

The Hoods don’t notice him come in, which means he can take a look around and find either the most likely candidate for their leader or the one mostly like to be helpful. Well. As helpful as the Hoods ever are.

There’s a big group of rowdy guys, including a literal giant, over by a pool table. The giant looks like he’ll use Dick for a cue stick, and he decides to leave them alone.

Who else, who else…not the group by the bar, either, one of ‘em’s cleaning a gun. Sure, he’s laughing with a friend, but still. There’s no reason to interrupt them-there. That one. The kid sitting way back in the corner with a couple of older guys. He’s draped over his seat like he belongs in it, and they’re not touching him, so it’s a safe bet he’s not a hired boy toy.

“—sure you don’t want something?”

“I’m not a crowd drinker, you know that, Rogers,” the kid says, easy, and the other man-scraggly hair, big, coke-bottle glasses that make his eyes look huge-shrugs and tips his bottle against his lips.

“More for us.”

“Mm-hm.” Kid lights a cigarette and takes a long drag before dropping his head back and blowing a cloud towards the ceiling. “M’not saying I’d kill for a Sprite, but…”

His companions laugh and one of them, a man maybe a little older than Bruce (don’t go there, Grayson) reaches over to tousle his hair.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky next time.”

Kid pulls away, laughing and trying to flatten his hair back down. Dick figures now’s as good a time as any and saunters over.

“So tomorrow’s Hangover Day and then it’s-who the fuck are you.”

Damn. Prickly little shit. Whatever. Dick can work with prickly. He used to work for Bruce, after all. Regrettably.

He puts on his best grin, keeps his palms open, and says, “Dick Grayson.”

Silence. Kid takes another drag. Finally, Rogers starts snickering. Gee. So mature. Kid snorts, smoke coming out of his nostrils like a dragon.

“Wow. I don’t know whether to laugh or to feel bad.”

“Laugh,” one of them says. “I know this asshole. He lives up to his name.”

Dick doesn’t remember doing anything to this guy. That doesn’t mean he didn’t, he just doesn’t remember.

“Sorry?” he tries, because he’s here for fresh starts and all. And also because Natasha will kill him if he goads them into attacking.

“Apology not accepted,” the man grumbles. Kid laughs, low and rough.

“Wow. You’ve made a lifelong enemy of Drouot. Didn’t know that was possible.” The others cackle. Drouot shoots Kid a dirty look from behind his stein. Is this good? Bad? Wait-and-see? “Waddaya want, **Dick?** ”

To leave.

“Word on the street is that you boys have a new leader,” he says. “I wanted to say hi.”

“Isn’t that nice.” Kid stretches, shoulders popping. “Cut the crap. What do you want.”

Fine.

“To talk to your boss. Where is he.”

“Busy.”

Someone really, really should have taught this kid some manners at some point. Dick’s patience is frayed. It’s loud, he doesn’t want to be in here with a bunch’a guys who have, historically, tried to kill him, and he just wants to get this over with.

“Look, you little shit—”

Aaaaand now he’s on the ground with a gun pressed against his head. What the fuck?

Kid’s still smirking and. No. No way. There is no way—

“Look at that, my schedule has cleared,” he says. “You can say hi now.”

Oh, come on!

“You’ve gotta be the stand-in,” he says, and maybe that’s not smart, but still. Kid shakes his head.

“Are you insinuating I’m just a pretty face?” he asks, mock-hurt, and Drouot rubs the bridge of his nose. “That hurts my **feelings**.”

If Dick gets his way, he’s going to hurt more than this brat’s feelings. As soon as there’s not the possibility of his head being blown off.

“Want us to teach him some manners?” somebody-probably the one with the gun-says from over Dick’s head.

“Nah. Get him outta here.”

“You sure?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” But he’s still relaxed, cigarette hanging comfortably in his fingers, and there’s no heat to his words. “He’s not worth the effort.”

“You got it, boss.”

Dick’s grabbed by the arms and lugged towards the door. Well. This could have gone better.

Kid waves at him, a full-on queen wave, and calls out, “Hey! Tell the garage Jason Todd says hi back!”

He’d love to flip him off. Drouot huffs.

“I say we kill him.”

Jason Todd laughs again and twists over.

“What did he do to you, anyway?”

If he answers, Dick doesn’t hear it. He’s tossed out into the sand and informed, firmly, that, “You got off easy.”

Ow.

THE END


End file.
